Sammy and the ghosts
by Under a Blue Pen
Summary: Lots of speculation has been put into the back-story of Zombies on Black Ops - and I'm about to scrap it all, and give a completely alternative explanation to what Zombies is all about! This story is going to be very long, as I am going to tell the whole story! Remember not to moan that this doesn't fit the Easter Eggs, it isn't supposed to :
1. 1 Samantha

**_1. Samantha_**

* * *

My back was against the cold metal and I groaned from the depths of my lungs as the dull throb of anesthesia pounded against my temples. I found the strength to open my eyes, my eyelids weighed; pulling themselves closed as though a thousand termites were pushing them so. I pulled my hands to my face to try and rub my eyes, but my hands were stopped halfway by a grip of cold iron around my wrists.

At that, my eyes snapped open: what the hell?

The light that bathed me was white, white and oh so bright. Anaesthesia wasn't my only problem – the sudden light brought with it the ingredients for a killer migraine.

I looked down. That's why it was so cold. I was naked.

I looked right. That's why I couldn't move. A metal cuff was secured against my wrist, leading down to be attached to whatever I was lying on.

I looked left. And that's what I was lying on: A metal operating bed.

A voice came from somewhere nearby, "Maxis? Maxis!" The voice was calling out "I think she iz avake!"

A deeper, more collected voice came from another side, dismissively, as if he were otherwise occupied, "Doctor Richtofen, I vill attend to our subject in unt minute."

Lifting my head, I looked directly at the first voice, who the other had called Richtofen. He was looking at me, also. A look of excitement came over his sharp features, now sure that I was conscious.

"Vell _Doctor Maxis_" Richtofen replied tersely, snapping on a latex glove over his hand menacingly, "Every minute you spend iz vun minute further from our ultimate goal!"

I was terrified – undoubtedly, this 'ultimate goal' was to include me. But how?

"What do you want from me?" I screamed at Richtofen "Why am I here?"

Richtofen just smirked, not saying a word. If my shouts did nothing for Richtofen, they certainly roused the other doctor, 'Maxis', Richtofen had called him, as he threw down his notepad.

"Silence, American!" Maxis raged, skewering me with a glare that would freeze hell "your time vill come. But save your voice, you shall need it". At this, Richtofen hid a chuckle, but Maxis directed his anger at him as well "and if neither of you can shut up, zen I vill have to acquire a more capable lab assistant!"

At least that wiped the leer off of Richtofen's face, but it did nothing to quell my horror. I became self-conscious about my nudity. Surely no! That couldn't be why they had me here, chained up.

I began to panic, thrashing around trying to damage either the cuffs or myself. Maybe, if I damaged myself, I would become less desirable, and they would leave me unharmed.

"Richtofen, stop her, she might harm herself!" Maxis shouted "Increase ze concentration – but remember: paralysis, not pain-killer. She must _feel_ zis if it is to have the proper effect." Maxis rounded on me as the other doctor fiddled with an instrument to my left "Stop resisting, girl, you must accept zat you are perfect for out designs, and there is nothing you can do to stop this!"

Doctor Maxis let out a cackle of delight, as the evil rock of his heart was shown the suffering it fed off of. Meanwhile, Richtofen finished work on the workstation. I felt a coldness, unlike anything I had felt before, wash through my entire system – there must have been some kind of IV in my back or something – and I suddenly found myself completely immovable.

"Maxis, the instrument is now in place" Richtofen told the other doctor.

"Vell zen, Doctor Richtofen," Maxis replied "you may fire ze DG-2 ven ready"

I couldn't turn my head to look at him, but I knew that his eyes had the glint of evil as a mechanical whirring came from above me. I was paralysed, staring at my stomach, as a bizarre contraption of metal and glass came down in front of me. The glass panels glowed ice-blue with an inner energy, and there were four such glowing capsules sticking out from one side.

"Three... two... vun..."

And then, without warning besides Richtofen's count-down, the so-called DG-2 lurched forwards – right into my stomach. The metal pinnacle of the device stabbed straight through my navel, and six other spikes, which extended out from the main one, made a circle of agony encompassing my entire abdomen.

The pain was unbearable, but I couldn't squirm away. On second thoughts, even if I could move, squirming would only have churn up the spikes of the DG-2 inside me.

"Do not be afraid, American, this will soon be over," Richtofen said, and then rethought: "on second thoughts –"

"Fear us!" Maxis finished "you are ours – forever!"

Richtofen threw a switch – I could hear the clunk – and my world dissolved with pain. The DG-2 became alive with an electrical energy, which roared through my body like a forest fire. My eyes began to heat up, and my tears evaporated before they could fall. I could feel my bones being incinerated. The agony made me scream – though it didn't come from my throat, which had already melted.

It came from my soul.

The most horrific noise, it didn't sound real but it perfectly conveyed the torture I was feeling.

"It's vorking!" Richtofen exclaimed, audibly trying to keep the fear out of his voice, "ze transferral is making progress"

But I couldn't hear. Or see. Or smell. Or feel. I could just sense, I was the room, no, I was the hospital. No! I was the world, the galaxy, the universe, I could sense everything, know everything, everyone.

I focused my omniscience on the room where my body had been. Had. There was now just a slush of melted bio-mass. Richtofen was holding up the four glass nodules like a mother would a baby, wonder in his eyes. He tapped one and my whole world shook.

"Hello, Samantha" Richtofen cooed.

I could know everything, and be everywhere, but my entire consciousness was focussed on that one room, filled by the evil doctors. As I learnt their thoughts and plans, time seemed to slow down.

"No-vun can stop us now, Richtofen," Maxis cackled "Ze vorld is ours!"

And though my soul touched the entire universe, I had never felt so small in my life.

* * *

**Authors note:**

**- Please leave your rating, as I would really appreciate it, if anything just to know that this is being read, as it's a story I really want to tell!**

**- Check back, because I know the whole story arc, and the ending will be epic!**

**- Please don't quote your impressive knowledge of Zombies Easter Eggs at me, this is my own storyline for zombies!**


	2. 2 Dempsey

2. Dempsey

My clothes were wet when I woke up. My clothes? No – my uniform. I'm a soldier.

My memory came back fast.

I'm a soldier. I do what soldiers do, when faced with a new circumstance: collect Intel. I tried opening my eyes. No luck. Apparently I'd got the gravity wrong – I was lying on my front, face down. I rolled over and the floor squelched. Mud. I was lying in mud, so before I opened my eyes I had to wipe them.

I opened my eyes. I was in no-man's land. Mud, everywhere, as far as the horizon. Which wasn't far, because of the thick mist, making it impossible to see anything further than 40 yards. On the very edge of where the world became invisible, the outline of a plane, one wing stuck in the thick mud at a strange angle, the other balanced precariously in the air, like a dog that had damaged its paw.

All of it was on fire.

My memory. I thought it was back, but I was only remembering the basics: how to move, how to breathe, how to open my eyes; but my self was tugging painfully at the back of my eyes.

Staring at the wrecked plane, still sat on the muddy field, things that I had known was trying desperately to tear its way into the present, but I couldn't work it out. I was here and I was now.

That was all that mattered here and now.

Maybe I had been on that plane, it seemed probable, that I was unconscious because I had been in the crash, but that wasn't particularly going to keep me alive. I know what keeps me alive. I know their shapes, have the muscle memory.

I looked down, I had two: a M1911 .45 and a Thompson sub.

I checked the .45, full ammo, plus 20 clips on my belt. The thing had a bit of mud damage, but switching the catch a few times got it out. Noisily.

The Tommy was unusable. Completely jammed on mud and dust. There were another 20 magazines on my belt. Pretty useless, but if I found another soldier I could clean it. Not that I didn't know how to disassemble pretty much any firearm, but doing it in this field would only serve to jam It further.

Another soldier?

I thought I could hear squelching footsteps, coming from the direction of the plane.

I looked up, and there they were, about ten other soldiers. They were in a daze, stumbling around in different directions, not even talking to each other – probably shell-shocked. I could see their injuries from here: broken arms held out in front (I assumed) to give them balance as they dragged broken legs behind them. They shuffled along in a ridiculously stilted way, like skeletons in pop movies.

"Hey!" I called out "Hey, over here! It's…" Shit. I didn't know my name rank or intention. I checked my shoulder. Dempsey, Captain. A name I didn't recognize. Hopefully they would.

But as I looked up again, they weren't wandering aimlessly. They were all walking towards me. In the space of 10 seconds, they had all come about, even with their terrible injuries.

"Hey! This is… uh… Captain Dempsey! I could use intel on our current location!"

I blinked. Was one of them running? Yes he was. No, a cheap imitation of running, legs flying forwards as if not of his own will, arms flailing to compensate. He looked like a pinwheel.

The running would have been humorous, if he hadn't been running, full pelt, straight at me. I'll admit I panicked. I mean, I've never been in a situation like this, not that I could remember, anyway, and I was still groggy from waking up. I did what I guess was instinct.

The M19' was in my hands before I even thought about it. I slid the clip in autonomously, pulled back the catch, released the safety. In the relative silence, the click of the safety going off rang for miles: _I'm not playing_.

"Private," I had to assume, "I'm commanding you to approach slower. Announce yourself, boy. Don't make my use this."

No reply. He kept running.

"That's right, boy. I have a gun. And if you don't stop running like that pretty soon, I'ma give you a reason to be flailing your arms."

The formality of engagement wavered further as he got closer.

"Seriously, kid" I shouted, "You're starting to scare me. Now, if I were you I'd stop right there and let me come to you."

He was close enough for me to see the whites of his eyes. Yellows? Yeah, I wasn't seeing things, his eyes were yellow. In fact, they were giving out light, making thin beams in the mist.

"The…?"

Then I saw it, emblazoned on his right shoulder. A red banner. A white circle in the middle. And a black swastika.

"Motherfucker!" I shouted.

And let loose a hail of bullets.

My finger pumped the trigger 8 times, until the clip was completely empty. 8 bullets to the chest, the Nazi was blown back by the force and slid back meters in the mud.

I was seeing things – he hadn't moved. He was still running.

He was almost right on me.

"What are you?!"

A massive whole appeared in the Nazi's left shoulder, then to the right of his abdomen. Then his head exploded, and he hit the dirt, sliding forward with the momentum of running, till the wound on his arm rested against my leg. He had reached me, but not in one piece.

A few seconds later, I heard the shots. One, space, two, space. More space… three. Blot action I guessed. The gunman had fired a shot, moved the bolt, then shot again assuming he was aimed in the right area. He had moved the bolt again for the next shot – he was trained – and watched his mark. Seeing that his last shot had missed, he had lined up carefully the next one, making a longer gap. The things I can tell from a shooting pattern.

That the first shot had hit the shoulder… he was probably a bit drunk, probably as unprepared as I was. But wait, he had known that the shot to the head would work, that's why he had aimed so specifically. Whoever the drunken assailant had been, it would be the best bet for my survival to find him and question him.

I set off in the direction of the gunshot, directly behind me, and saw it as soon as I turned around. A black smudge on the horizon, hazy because it was about 50 yards away. The sniper had either had a powerful scope or had been working solely on silhouettes – there was no way he could have seen us from that distance in this fog – which I counted as further evidence that he knew what he was fighting. I couldn't see him and he could see me.

It was a two-story building, probably part of an airfield. It was almost perfectly rectangular. The roof had been blown off the whole of one corner, and the windows were just square holes, which had all been boarded off. There was a low wall on one side, sandbags, smoking cars, like someone had put up a defense in a hurry. I walked up to an opening in the wall, topped with a wooden plank, from which hung a single light-bulb, and then through it, to try and work a way into the base. Even with only a pistol, so long as the place wasn't full of those dead Nazis, I could probably secure it myself. Use it as my holdout until I figured a way out.

I stopped when I head grumbling coming from inside. The sniper. A slurping sound, followed by a bottle smashing on a wall, followed by a belch.

Definitely drunk then.

I came to a hole in the side of the building and looked in. The man, whose back was facing me, wore the uniform of the red army. Shit.

I eased my way through the whole and loaded in another clip into the M1911. I came up behind him quietly and he didn't notice me – until I rested the barrel against his temple. He hiccupped slightly then drew his breath in. From the view over his shoulder I could see the that he had a rifle in his hand, a (^). Bolt-action. Man I'm a genius.

"All right, Asshole," I hissed "Put that gun down. You might have just saved my life, but you're still a red firing in my direction." His gun twitched, as if he was considering making a move, "Believe me, asshole, you even think about out and I'll send you off to meet Hitler and Lenin"

The Russian began lowering the rifle – then brought it back sharply into my groin. The gun in my hand fell as I hit the floor. The impact made it go off, and the bullet ricocheted around the room, incredibly noisily.

"No, you listen to me, 'asshole'," the Russian spat as I cradled the insides of my thighs, "You might think you're the big boy American coming to save the day, but with all the noise you just made, you'll get to find out what's worse than Hitler and Lenin put together," and then, after taking a swig of a fresh bottle and a harsh chuckle, "Believe me, this is going to be fun."


End file.
